A New Year Request
Mel Goldberg
The new year says,
“Stop wishing for peace.”
And I understand that
the act of not killing each other
is as easy as making coffee
and pouring it in to a mug,
and we could have had it
if we wanted it enough
to make it happen.
The new year says,
“Stop thinking of me as a baby,
I’m old, wrinkled as leather,
and I have a sore back.”
But we think wishing is the same
as changing, and we spout prayers
as useful as soiled underwear or dirty socks.
We constantly wish for someone else
to do the work, to eliminate guns,
and bring us what we want, but
the new year says, “Do it yourself,”
in a voice as clear as the slap
of ocean waves waking the shore
******
All The Things I Will Never See
Mel Goldberg
There are things
my grandchildren will see
and do that I never will,
like making contact
with extraterrestrials or
establishing the first Mars colony
but there are things
that I have seen and done
that they will never understand,
like dialing a rotary phone or
listening to stories on a radio.
It’s an equitable trade-off.
The city where I was born
is still there but no longer exists,
like imagining that the western sky
cares about the sunset
******
The Flow Of Time
Mel Goldberg
The flow of time
holds every past moment
in its strip of movie film
with each scene preserved intact.
But I cannot reverse the film
and insert myself
into the precise moment
to relive being in downtown
Chicago with friends
on New Year’s eve
or the births of my children
so the memory will have to do.
******
Flying Away
Mel Goldberg
A solitary heron
stands on the bank
of Lake Chapala,
legs immersed in cloudy water,
then flies away, silently,
large white wings flapping
while the moon watches,
And I think about what happens
to people who face hardship
in the new year and fly away
because those who can help them
choose not to.
******
Lost
Mel Goldberg
It is December and I watch
an ant far from the yard,
walking across my kitchen counter
antennae twitching, six tiny legs
moving in a zig-zag path
pausing once or twice, as if trying
to remember why he was there
or the way back home.
He’s lost, and is seeking
the chemical scent
of his colony, who are
a million ant miles away.
Does the colony notice that he
has not been seen for a while?
Do their feelers twitch in grief?
Years ago, I got lost
looking for a house
in a strange city and found
a street with stucco houses,
driveways cracked and stained.
Now, I feel the same way
when I hear the news about
a far-away country
that should be familiar,
because I was born there
almost 90 years ago.
What can I do except
be like that ant
and keep moving forward,
hoping find my way.
******
Memory Is Like A Wound
Mel Goldberg
Sometimes memory is like
the bloody wound I suffered
when I fell on the cinders
in the alley behind where I lived,
and sometimes the memory is like
the scent of a loved one’s perfume
in an evening, or red streetcars,
neon lights, jazz and blues clubs.
I have run away from the city
that once called me its son,
but in the little time I have left,
I will remember its crowded
downtown streets at Christmas time,
and young boys and girls
running free across lake sands,
an old dream in which
none of us ever return
to what we once were.
******
Santa’s Dilemma
Mark Sconce
Every year about this time,
St. Nicholas begins
To organize his trip abroad
Amid the children’s grins.
But news this year at Christmastide
Includes a sober piece:
That certain children far and wide
Are shockingly obese.
Never one to shirk his duty,
Old Santa makes a vow:
“By shedding from m’own big booty,
I’ll show the children how
To take a little pride.
I’m setting the example
For children far and wide
To make us all less ample!
Ho, Ho, Ho.”
And so Dear Santa shopped around
To find the right equipment
To help him shed his portly pound
Before the Great Transhipment.
Mrs. Claus encouraged him
Throughout the days and nights.
She fantasized him slim and trim
And bought him trendy tights.
The active adult that he is
Soon led to Leisure Village,
Where fitness is a booming biz,
Where dumbbells curl and curl…
******
My Mother Visited Me
Mel Goldberg
On New Year’s eve,
my mother visited me in a dream
years after she had died and we went
to Emma’s Jewish deli
in the Mexican town where I now live
and we ordered matzo ball soup
with bagel chips and she reminded me
about the time we went downtown Chicago
to have the special New Year’s day
chicken salad sandwich lunch
at Marshall Fields and I asked her
why she waited so many years to visit me
and she said she had to wait
until I was ready.
******
The Night Before Christmas On Mexico’s Coast
David Lyons
It’s the night before Christmas, but I live at the beach.
I’m afraid a white Christmas is out of my reach.
No snow, no sleigh bells, no Santa’s reindeer,
The sound of the surf is all that I hear.
I miss mistletoe and I miss all the holly
Strung lights on my cactus, it wasn’t as jolly
What I wouldn’t give for some eggnog right now
Tequila’s just not as festive somehow.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love living here
But I get a bit homesick this time of the year
When the kids were young, I’d be up until three,
Wrapping their gifts to put under the tree.
They’re all grown up now with lives of their own
Instead of their hugs, it’s a call on the phone
Hey dad, how are you? How’s Christmas down there?
They tell me they love me. I know that they care
It’s enough I suppose and I’m glad that they’re well
Maybe next year they’ll visit, wow, that would be swell
But tonight it’s just the missus and me
And two cats – they’re the reason we can’t have a tree
On the satellite radio I hear Crosby croon
Irving Berlin’s wistful holiday tune
And I realize I’m not the first one to dwell
On Christmases past, we remember so well
But the hour is late, it’s past time for bed
The tequila I’ve sipped has gone straight to my head
So I take my love’s hand and step out for some air
And gaze at the stars hoping Santa’a up there
He isn’t of course, as I’ve known all along,
And that cheery white Christmas is only a song
But I hold my love to me and give her a kiss,
And ask – does it get any better than this?
We live in a tropical heaven on earth
Enjoying good health, aware of its worth
I have everything I’ve ever wanted and more
And a Christmas as white as the sand on the shore
Merry Christmas to all
After he retired and moved to Sedona, Arizona, he taught literature at Yavapai College in Clarkdale, Arizona.
He and professional artist Bev Kephart bought a small motor home in 2003, sold most of their possessions, and traveled the U. S. for seven years. After visiting Mexico several times, they settled in the village of Ajijic, joining the ex-pat artist and writing communities.
Mel’s writing has been published online and in print in The United Kingdom, The United States, Mexico, New Zealand, and Australia. He is the author of three novels, a book of short stories, and several books of poetry. He and his wife now make their home in the village of San Nicholas de Ibarra.
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